Red Wine and Felines
by Psychoswordlady
Summary: [Musashi Samurai Legend] How did Shiraz, the catlike Director of Intelligence, wind up with a bunch like the Gandrake Enterprises Board of Directors? [Rated T for the time being, may go up later][ShiRoth, Slash later on] Chapter 2 UP
1. The Hunt

Red Wine and Felines 

(A Psychoswordlady Production)

NOTE: I don't own the Musashiden franchise. That being said I do own this fic, and possibly the pair name of ShiRoth. (If you're the one who got to it before me, tell me so I can revoke all claims to it. I'm no thief.) I'll have to do some searching to see if I'm the first to write a ShiRoth fic, but I sure hope this is one of the better ones. Of course, I suck, so I'll never be the best at any kind of fic. (/emo) And some things in the story are assumed; the whole pair came from an assumption and not something actually outlined in the game, and isn't that how 75 percent plus of the pairs in games and cartoons get started anyway? Anyway, I hope you like it, it's the first Musashiden story I have enough of to post.

Chapter 1

Shiraz hated humans.

He always had. They did nothing more than gorge themselves on money and abuse all who weren't like them. The only other things they ever did were eating, sleeping, and destroying things. Their only use was as food-- quite the delicacy, in fact.

He especially hated women.

They had high, screechy voices, wore revealing clothing and put strange pigments on their faces, and worst of all, bore children and spread humanity further. They were a pain to capture, and of little culinary value as well; little meat to speak of and too much fat. Even the occasional tough one left a bitter taste. Shiraz only feasted upon men. They were easier to catch, and went well with tomato sauce and cheese; making the perfect carnivore spaghetti. It was a recipe Shiraz himself had concocted. He was quite proud of it.

And there he lay, behind a barrel, in expectation of an unfortunate lunk's appearance within range. His tail flicked idly in wait; its crude armor hammered from buckets clanked slightly with the movement. He silenced it quickly at the sound of distant footsteps, and drew back behind the barrel a bit more. The arch of his back hid smoothly behind the convex wooden object.

The steps drew closer.

_Thump_.

His hind feet dug into the dirt path.

_Thump_.

His lips drew up into a snarl, revealing sharp fanglike teeth.

_Thump_.

His tail went rigid, ready to balance.

_Thump._

The tip of a cane came into view.

_Thump._

With the final footstep, his legs immediately snapped straight and propelled him into flight. His clawed fingers spread and stiffened for the kill, and soon he felt them embed into something solidly. His arched back went limp and he collapsed on top of his prey, and in a flash whipped his left hand out of the earth and smashed the side of it into the man's throat. The other pinned the prey's shoulder firmly against the road. His legs straddled the victim's, effectively trapping him.

He inspected his catch. Blond hair, a dark gray coat, gold epaulets, and creased black pants-- signs of wealth. The one thing that puzzled him was the man's eyes. They had remained shut throughout the whole ordeal. His mouth bore a calm expression, one that could possibly be deemed a smile. _"What an insolent expression of fearlessness,"_ he thought. _"How dare he. The arrogance! I shall have to kill him slowly."_

The man's smile widened, and he spoke, amid a laugh: "My, you're affectionate."

"Give me one reason I shouldn't carve you up like a turkey and eat you raw right here and now," Shiraz growled.

"I honestly can't think of any," he returned serenely. "Do what you will."

"You're a brave man," Shiraz said at length. "Courage adds flavor to the meat. Quite a rare treat, I must say." He licked one long claw hungrily, and his eyes glinted.

"Yes, I suppose. If you plan on devouring me, however, I'd advise it's not worth it."

"I haven't eaten in nearly a month. What could possibly force me to delay a meal now?"

"President Gandrake," the man said. "I'll have you know he happens to be my boss. Neither you nor I for that matter could stand a chance against him were he to lose his second-in-command."

Gandrake. The name rung a bell. Shiraz remembered hearing it in discussions of influential people. Apparently there was an up-and-coming corporation by the same name, growing quickly due to its invention of the nebulite engine. Maybe this odd, shut-eyed man had some use after all--maybe his "boss" Gandrake could do something to teach those silly humans a lesson.

"Gandrake, huh. Interesting." Shiraz stood up, releasing his captive from his prison of arms and legs.

The blond picked up his cane and twirled it about playfully. "You know, I did overhear him mentioning a need for a director of intelligence. Would you possibly be willing to take on the position?"

A plot formulated in the catlike man's head. "I would have to meet this Gandrake in person first."

"That can certainly be arranged," the man said, motioning for Shiraz to follow. "Come with me. I'll show you how to teleport."

The man took Shiraz's hand and placed it on the cane. Shiraz's brows wrinkled at the strange gesture. Had he not noticed the deathly pale palms, the bony fingers, and most importantly, the long, sharp, clawlike nails tipping them? Or, for that matter, the feline tail sprouting from a hole in the back side of his shorts? Had he not found him repulsive, as so many others before had?

"Do you have a good hold on it?" he asked, interrupting Shiraz's musings. "All right. Don't move, now, and the spell will begin to take effect."

Shiraz blinked, and as soon as his eyes reopened he found himself in a large room with metal walls.

"See?" the man asked. "Simple, really. Come along. I'll introduce you to the boss."

Shiraz's heavy shoe soles clanged against the steel floor. He felt awkward all of a sudden. Compared to the average-sized blond walking beside him, he was awfully tall and lanky, and his feet were long and huge. He was, in fact, a full head taller than his new comrade. As he tried to deduce a comparison of their feet, an odd noise distracted him. An incessant... tapping. His neighbor was humming cheerfully and tapping his cane around on the floor.

"Please, stop that racket."

"Hm? Well, I couldn't exactly know where I was going were I to stop." Before Shiraz could open his mouth in question, the man continued happily, "It's nice to know that there are people who don't know I'm blind at first meeting."

So that was why the man's eyes were closed the whole time. That was why he wasn't scared. Shiraz's sinister, feline appearance was known to repel humans of all sizes and ages. Perhaps this blind man wasn't as brave as he had thought. Even a blind man would be appalled at his looks.

They stopped at a door with a huge red insignia on it. "As soon as he says hello, you should bow properly. That seems to be an important custom where he's from. And you should certainly append '-sama' to his name when you address him." He pressed his hand flat against the center of the symbol, and a red light scanned across his palm. "Apparently, he's from some faraway land, and such practices are common there. Just stay calm, and you'll make it through."

The door let out a huge blast of steam with the retraction of its two halves into the frame. A floating triangular platform awaited its passengers. The two stepped onto it and the blond one pressed a small button in its center with his cane. It glided forward slowly and came to a gentle stop in the center of a huge, apparently bottomless tower. An imposing man in foreign clothes sat upon a floating throne.

Shiraz felt sharp blue eyes staring at him icily. He began to feel an odd sensation he vaguely remembered as fear. Relief came soon as the boss's eyes flicked to the man beside him. A deep, commanding voice boomed through the tower.

"Well well, Rothschild, what have you brought me now?"


	2. Maybe it Takes a Blind Man

NOTE: This will eventually get slashy, yaoi-ish, lemony, whatever you want to call it. But not yet. When I get to the chapter with the man-on-man action I'll put up a warning so those of you who can't appreciate it can just skip through it. I hate having to butcher my love scenes like this, but it's at least some attempt to please everyone. 

Chapter 2

"Good day, Mister Gandrake. I noticed we had need of a head of intelligence, and stumbled upon this young man. I do believe he'd make quite the administrator."

Shiraz noticed Rothschild, as he was called, was not addressing Gandrake as "Gandrake-sama" as he had instructed. He merely dismissed it as a matter of familiarity. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head in respect. "Gandrake-sama. I am honored to meet you in person. My name is Shiraz."

The president eyed them suspiciously. "What makes you think he would be of any use?"

"I have my intuition. Besides, he's quite the hunter. He even caught me off guard," Rothschild replied, "and an achievement such as that certainly warrants some consideration."

Gandrake half-smiled. "There was a reason I chose you as a second-in-command, Rothschild. Intuition such as yours is a rare find indeed." He turned to Shiraz. "Shiraz. You start tomorrow. I'll have paperwork drawn up for you outlining the rules and responsibilities you'll take on."

"Yes, sir," he said, and stood up in time to watch Gandrake's chair retreat into the wall and obscure itself behind an overhead panel.

"Well, that concludes that," Rothschild remarked cheerfully. "Come along, I'll get you acquainted with the facility."

The building was huge. Shiraz had never been inside a place that size before. Behind a thick black door lay a huge dining hall with chandeliers and robotic cooks milling about in the kitchen. Huge cryogenic capsules of skeletons and DNA information. A fully functioning Galvabot factory with conveyor belts and Blasterbot guards. Two- and three-story high rooms containing giant cauldron-shaped torches, vaulted glass ceilings, and Ninja Drillers driving screws into scaffolding. The place was impressive, but still under construction. Shiraz couldn't help wondering how many trees the humans had cut down to build it, and how many Petrivores had starved due to all the nebulite being fed into the robots for fuel. Human advancement came only at the expense of other living things.

They finally came to a room near the end of the hall whose size paled in comparison to the colossal rooms behind. Rothschild opened the door to reveal a neatly made bed, some chairs, and a few braille books pushed into a shelf with a radio and a record player. "Well, this room's mine. It isn't much, but I make do with it."

"Interesting."

"Your room should be over here," Rothschild continued, pushing open the next door. A metallic clang perked up Shiraz's pointed ears and caused him to flinch with its volume.

The door's unfortunate victim stumbled out into the hall, and a synthesized voice echoed from behind its mask. "My apologies, sirs! We were given such short notice, we haven't finished the room yet. It will be two days at the most before it's completely ready," the worker Ninjaroid shakily apologized.

"What a shame," Rothschild said with a chuckle. "Shiraz, are you in the mood to eat something yet?"

Shiraz glared. What a stupid question--he hadn't eaten in a month. He pushed Rothschild's shoulder into the wall with a swift, forceful motion. "Of course I am. I fully intend to eat you, sir. I never let a catch get away."

"My, isn't someone touchy," he joked. "I'm sure the cooks will have something you'll enjoy." With that, he strolled off in the direction of the dining hall. Shiraz furrowed his brows as his prey escaped a second time. This man vexed him. He was always able to escape his grasp with a few smooth words. Maybe that was his strong point--maybe that was why he was appointed such an important position. Muddled in thought, he followed the other man's example and sat down at a table in the huge dining hall.

"Glad to see you've joined us," Rothschild called from a few tables down.

"Hah," Shiraz half-laughed. "'See' isn't exactly a word you should be using."

"Oh, so you do have a sense of humor! And I thought you totally devoid of feeling."

Shiraz's tail twitched. "I'm alive. I smile, I get angry."

"Nice to know. Say, if you're wanting meat, I'd recommend the chicken pasta. For a bunch of robots, they're decent cooks."

"Hm." A pink-clad robot wearing a waitress wig scuttled around taking orders and soon returned with two plates. Shiraz stuck a grand total of four claws into the meat and began ripping at it with his teeth. Soon a whole chicken had vanished, and only about two-thirds of the skeleton remained. He had swallowed both drumsticks whole, and had thought the wings were supposed to be crunchy like that. Finally he stuck a finger into the noodles, twisted them into one large mass resembling a ball of yarn, and proceeded to swallow it whole.

"Where are your manners?" chided Rothschild. "This is called a fork." He held up a pronged metal object. "And this is a spoon." He held up a silvery thing with a bowl on its end. "And this is a knife." He held up a flat object with a blade. "I could demonstrate their proper use had you any food left. You must not have been joking when you said you were starved!"

"I'm going to my room," Shiraz said curtly.

"Your room is going to be filled with Ninjaroids doing maintenance." Rothschild stacked the plates and utensils neatly for the waiters to pick up. They began to walk down the hall to the dormitories amid the noise of the hammering and drilling robot workers.

"I don't mind sleeping in an unfinished room." Shiraz leaned back against the wall between the two doors.

"You're welcome to stay in my room," Rothschild offered as he sat down in one of the chairs and picked up a braille book. "You're also welcome to the bed. I'll just sit in one of the chairs and fall asleep--it's one of my strong suits," he declared with a stifled laugh.

"I'm not going to take up your space. You might step on my tail. I also prefer to sleep on the floor, which might complicate the latter."

"Oh, but Shiraz, I _insist_ you have somewhere comfortable to stay. And don't worry about your tail. I'm very careful." With that, he unfolded a sheet and flattened it over that carpet. "The rug is a little rough, but this should let you sleep well. Are you tired now?"

Shiraz lay atop the sheet--he took what he was given. "No, I'm usually up late."

Rothschild pulled a black disc from a case and placed it on the record player. "Then, have you any preference in music?"

"Not really." He hadn't heard much music before, and what he had heard in the village was rather dismal in terms of skill.

As soon as the needle hit the black saucer, sound came pouring out of the large horn on the player. Stringed instruments he'd never heard before, things that almost sounded like elephants, odd crashing noises and the clamor of several hollow objects being struck with sticks. A single human voice rose above the storm of apparently unrelated noise. A female voice, he concluded, singing in a foreign language. Shiraz's ears rung with the frequency of the voice, and he plugged them with his knuckles. Soon the singer paused, and a lull came in the other noises. Shiraz sprang up and pushed the needle away from the disc, and the offending horn fell silent.

"Not an opera lover, I see," said Rothschild as he returned the disc to its exact place in the case. "Such a shame."

Shiraz turned on his side and curled into a ball. "I'm going to sleep. Don't play any more of that vile 'music'."

"I won't." He shut the door to the restroom and soon returned in his pajamas. "Would you like another sheet? I have a spare."

"No," he replied. He curled up tighter so his tail lay near his head.

"It's awfully cold," warned Rothschild. When no response came, he simply left it at "Well, sweet dreams" and pulled the blankets over himself and turned off the lamp, which had been left on for Shiraz's convenience.

All this attention bothered Shiraz. Nobody treated him like this in the village. The people there either ignored him completely, thought he was a vampire or an evil spirit and hid their children and wore as much garlic as they could stand, or considered him a pest like a common barn cat and tried to beat him away with a broom. People didn't do these kinds of things for him--they didn't get him a job, feed him, play music for his sole benefit, offer him a sheet on a cold night. He didn't exactly know what to think of Rothschild, whether he was good or bad or just manipulative, but he did know Rothschild was different. _Maybe it's his eyes,_ he thought. _Maybe it does take a blind man to see everyone equally._


End file.
